Streets of Hell
by The Unpredictable Muse
Summary: Callisto Carter protects the streets of her town. Living in Nowhere Town next to Nowhere City has always plagued her childhood and teenage years. When she turned 18, she vowed to protect it. Teaming up with friends Rory and Layla, she has organized the protection detail that keeps her home town safer than most. Two years later, everything changes. Prequel to Off The Streets.
1. Chapter 1

March 21, 2020

Hertford, PA, USA

_Ben_

"It's that time of the year." Callisto said over the rush of faucet water filling a plugged sink.

Benjamin Carter leaned on the counter separating the small galley kitchen from the connecting living room. When they first moved in three years ago after qualifying for an apartment in the low-rent building, their mother shoved a small round table into the living room in place of the second hand puke green couch currently centered in front of the 43 inch flat screen television she bought with money from her side hustle – a second job as a part-time maid at a run-down motel on the edge of Hertford. Thankfully she swapped the shaky table for the sturdy, comfortable couch that doubled as a bed for the visiting friends and distant relatives who dared to travel within the recovering economy.

"You purging?" He eyed up his sister's hunched back, envying her experience from purging the last two years.

She scrubbed the dishes vigorously. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Rory joining you this year?" He expected the once-best friend to die by 7 am.

Her head lifted and she twisted sideways to give him the stink eye. "Why wouldn't she?"

He shrugged. "Just figured with…"

Facing the dirty dishes again, Callisto Carter, a college student in pursuit of a degree in interior design, ignored him. He loved his big sister, but he hated how she let Rory Tholand walk over her. Best friends didn't sleep with each other's boyfriends.

"I'm 18. I can go with you this year." He tapped his fingers on the counter to an upbeat internal track.

She shook her head, thick brown hair pooling between her shoulder blades. "Mom needs you here. Just in case."

"You can't stop me." He said, moving around the counter and standing next to her. "I want to purge too."

"I don't purge. We help people. If we have to take lives, it's only out of necessity." She stopped scrubbing a bowl with the pink scrub pad. "We don't go out for fun, Ben. We go out to protect our community."

"How does leaving the house and walking the streets 'help' the community?" He air quoted smirking.

She jerked her thumb toward the boarded windows. A shield of boards nailed to a square wooden frame, and then strapped onto hooks screwed into the wall at the tops and bottoms of the frames blocked the windows. Their building had been exempt from raids and homicidal idiots the last three years. "Check the straps. Mom refuses to shoot a gun, and if you're not sticking around, she's left with words only."

He rolled his eyes and watched her wipe down the counter. "You like purging?"

She shook her head, tossed the wet sponge in the sink and quickly dried the counter. "You're still a baby." Ruffling his hair, she moved to the living room to continue the cleaning spree.

Their mother cleaned on Purge Night, then watched her favorite movies while cooking a dinner they would eat the following morning. She prayed for everyone's safety before going to bed around 11 pm, often to wake up every couple hours to check on him. Ben would miss that, although he'd never admit that to anyone.

"I'm not a baby."

"Yes, you are. The only reason I was out on the streets the first year was because Lily and Ray ditched me and Crazy Eddie ordered his idiots to stalk me. I wasn't going to lead them back to our front door. Mom is anti-violence. You know that." She stopped and crossed her arms. "And don't you dare tell Mom I just said that."

He winked.

"I mean it. She thought I survived that night while hiding." She shook a finger at him. "Not. One. Word."

"I'm going with you."

She threw her hand up in the air and snagged her hockey mask off the coat hook next to front door. Three hours from now she'd join Rory, and he would tag along. Finally!

He picked up his cell phone off the side table crammed between the couch and wall. A series of texts containing 'It was good to know you, bro.' and 'I love you.' streamed in from his friends and family members. "You never smile afterwards."

"You've never shot a person before." She remarked under her breath and flipped him the middle finger. "Don't you have something to watch or do before death hovers at the door?"

He grinned. "That's what we have you for." He gestured to her wildly.

"Not if I die." She reminded him smartly.

They moved down the short hallway to her bedroom on the right. An orange furball brushed against his leg as soon as the door opened a sliver. His sister leaned down to pick up the family cat, who favored his sister more than anyone else. He stepped back and waited for her to enter the cramped bedroom.

"Are you going to kill Rory?"

She raised a brow at him as she scratched Butterball behind the ears. "Don't you have something to do before the horn blows?" Butterball purred into her hand, pressing his face and nose against her repeatedly.

"Cali, please." He pressed his palms together and begged.

"Why would I kill my friend? Because of Dipwad? Ha! That idiot doesn't know the meaning of loyalty. She made a mistake, not a bullet-worthy mistake." She pressed her forehead to Butterball's and put him on her lap.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, almost a male model for a clothing line if he put on a few muscular abs and tanned. "So you're just going to let her fu-"

"Obviously I owe her a favor for revealing his true character, Ben. Mom didn't like him either, and Mom's usually right about people." His sister anguished.

Butterball climbed out of her arms and snaked toward Ben. He clucked his tongue at the full grown male cat and pet the attention whore on his furry head.

Brushing orange hairs off her black clothing, Callisto shook her head. "What are you going to do with the machete? You hid it under your bed half the year. You're lucky I didn't tell Mom about it." She gestured at him and talked like their mother – well intentioned nagging.

He sighed. "How did you find out?"

"I dropped by the assisted living home last year and helped fend off Crazy Eddie. You know – the idiot who burned down several houses by catching a shed on fire with fireworks?" He gestured that he understood and for her to hurry up with the explanation. "Tommy's mother works there and she told me you bought his machete. He died last year, Ben. He wasn't ready for the streets and neither are you."

He opened his mouth to argue with her and stopped. "Why isn't Layla helping this year?" She retrieved a red notebook scarred with permanent marker and pen marks from inside her side dresser drawer. He reached for it and she yanked it back out of his arm length.

"She's pregnant." She looked up from the now open notebook as she scanned her notes and observations. "It's going to be ugly out there. You'll need the proper clothing-"

He nodded eagerly.

Her face fell. "You have basic body armor." Of course he had basic body armor! Why wouldn't he prepare for this night?

He nodded again. "You're a legend."

"Only to a few." She blushed. "Get your ass over here and study these notes. They may save your life tonight."

Granting him the bed space, Callisto moved her clothing and laid out everything with the body armor that survived last year. Old blood stained her boots. She tossed a pack of gel soles onto the bed and searched for scissors before trimming the soles and fitting them to the boots.

"I'm going to shower. Once it hits 6 pm your ass is dressed, armed and ready to protect this street. I have my handgun and Darling. Rory packs a shotgun and two smaller hand guns. If all you have is Tommy's machete, you'll need to be more careful than us. Hopefully tonight is quiet." She instructed as if reading from a manual.

He watched her exit the bedroom with a sports bra, boy shorts underwear, biker shorts, and black cargo pants. "Why so many layers?" He asked.

She poked her head into the room. "More layers to rip off if someone tries to…you know…"

Rape. She wanted to say the word rape, mouthing it instead of speaking it as to not alarm their mother. Digging his nose deeper into the notes, Ben wished he hadn't asked. That wouldn't stop a rapist. Abortions and babies born 9 months after this night were an infamous occurrence. He liked to believe that the abortions stemmed from failed birth control rather than rape.

Only when he heard the bathroom door close and water running did he breathe easier. Butterball cozied up to him and lay at his side. Tonight was going to be a long night.

_Callisto_

Hot water poured down her body in soothing cleansing of the crimes she committed in the past and would commit tonight. She expected Ben to want to purge with her. She didn't expect to plot duct taping him to a chair to keep him from leaving the apartment. Even more astonishing their mother hadn't tried to stop him!

Last year their mother locked Ben into his bedroom when he tried to sneak out. Thankfully last year had been more quiet than the year before. The year before it exploded in popularity among rapists and thieves. The murderers contained their malicious disease until last year when people laid out traps and tracked down people they had a grudge against.

This year she prayed she didn't die.

She learned to never look at people's faces. A person could be your neighbor and outright stab you on this night without a shred of remorse. Your best friend. Wife. Sister. Cousin. Co-worker. Someone you grew up with since five years old. Anybody turned into a threat this night and trust defined how you spent the night.

She trusted Rory to not shoot her in the back. She trusted Ben to not stab her in the back. She trusted Layla. She trusted her mother.

Everyone else – they were the enemy.

Why the fuck did Layla have to become pregnant?

She pressed her palm to the wall and breathed. She didn't understand how people could be easy this close to 7 pm. It hurt to breathe sometimes, and the only way to calm down was to curl up with Butterball and lay in silence until time to act. Usually Rory and Layla showed up early to chit chat about everything to include their sex lives. Marlene Carter had a cup of coffee with all of them and muse back to the day the Purge didn't exist and people struggled in a different manner. Often enough Layla agreed with their mother that Purge night wasn't necessary. Rory's bloodlust got to her head sometimes, but generally Rory's loyalty never worried Callisto.

Until tonight. They started speaking again less than two months ago, and their relationship was still on the rocks.

Fuck Rory.

Sighing deeply, she turned the hot water off and stepped out of the shower a new person.

Bloody Callisto prepared to face the world.

She reentered her bedroom to find Ben casually flipping through the pages of carefully gathered notes. Everyone in the local area knew who she, Rory, and Layla were on Purge night after last year's epic defense of the assisted living home. The mask helped her feel better about protecting her home and the people she loved. Her eyes flew toward the small round clock on the bedroom wall.

6:15.

"Better get dressed." She warned him. "Start practicing with that machete in your bedroom."

He nodded, a distant look in his eyes. "Anything else I should do?"

"Pray."

He took the red notebook with him and closed the door behind him. Towel drying her hair, she let her thoughts wander who would be on the streets and if her ex would hunt her down. She dropped him after she learned he had sex with her friend while they were both drunk. She learned of the drug dealing through one of her classmates who let it slip – on purpose or by accident she did not know nor cared.

Layering on the long sleeve, then the short sleeve, she sat on the bed and adapted to the weight of the layers before flexing and stretching. Fully dressing and unearthing her weapons from underneath the bed, she laid out the black wooden box on the bed and flipped it open after shifting Butterball onto her pillow.

A thoroughly cleaned handgun lodged in soft foam cut to fit the pieces gleamed under the yellowed light leaking through a dirty light fixture. She assembled the weapon by muscle memory and placed it carefully on the covers. Darling, a short sword with the word Darling carved into its handle, saved her from a rape on her first night of the Purge. She never adventured outside on Purge night without it.

Grateful she lived in a town that bordered a city, they never faced too much heat. Breathing deeply, she equipped the weapons.

6:30.

A whole half hour. The door bell rang.

"It's Rory!" Her mother called out into the apartment.

Excellent. She installed her game face and retrieved her brother.

He wore considerably less than her and smiled ear to ear. Flashing her a thumbs up, he flexed the sharpened machete too eagerly for her liking. She prayed he never followed the path of bloodshed. Not everyone desired peace and prosperity, and killing people created addicts. "Tonight – no funny business. Okay?" She jerked her finger between herself and him. He nodded quickly, as if stating he understood, and adjusted the strap on his body armor – a vest, padding, and a neck guard. Admittedly a neck guard was the one piece of armor Layla swore by.

Mind on survival and the Purge night chaos a half hour away, she faced her friend in the living room. Their mother returned from a friend's apartment in time for her nightly routine to start. She and Rory exchange pleasant greetings before speaking about Rory's job application for a government position.

Callisto breathed deeply, resolved to not be upset about Rory sleeping with Danny, and grimaced. Rory waved cheerfully, defying the gravity of the night's evil energy.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ben_

"Remember. We got your back. But you have to have ours." Rory said to Ben as they set foot in the alleyway behind their apartment building. It reeked of urine and trash, a combined scent that nauseated his weak stomach. He didn't eat much that evening in the belief that the 12 hours of death would heave it up at the wrong moment. His stomach pinched and he regret that decision regardless of the current justification.

Hockey mask on and wielding her sword in a less intimidating manner than Rory's shotgun, his sister teetered between aggressiveness and noncommitment. Her head swiveled back and forth as she glanced to the rooftops in search of snipers. Too early for drunken shooters thankfully.

He watched enough sniper videos on to know where they traditionally set up and ambushed their targets with varying degrees of accuracy and effectiveness.

"If you see Jackass, don't trust him." Callisto advised. "Probably wants my head for giving him blueballs."

"I want his head for breaking in the apartment door." Ben mumbled to himself. The repairs cost them $350, and they were late on rent that month.

Rory turned her head toward him. "You say something?"

He shook his head.

"Don't pick a fight tonight." She clapped him on the shoulder and crouched, scanning the street for any previously unseen traps and threats.

"I heard you loud and clear, Sis." He answered before wiping a sweaty hand on his pants. He debated between sweats and jeans, settling on jeans because they were thicker. Unlike his sister, he didn't prepare as well as he should have.

They walked to the edge of the alley and glanced up and down the street. No one. Silent as a tomb and equally dangerous.

"Eyes out for traps." Rory instructed him. "Invention is the name of this night."

"So is death. Don't die on me." His sister shot him a dirty look. He didn't care. He wanted to go out on Purge night at least once. It's all anyone talked about at school in the week leading up to March 21. Anyone over the age of 18 was permitted to purge, although the name of the night was lawlessness so being 18 and purging wasn't possible to enforce.

He cracked a crooked smile. "I'd never do that to Mom."

Rory clapped a gloved hand over his mouth. "Talk when its necessary. This means 'go'." She shot her hand forward. "Stop." She cut her flat hand across her throat. "Eyes up." Two fingers toward herr eyeballs and then the sky. "Eyes down." Two fingers toward the ground. "Enemies nearby." She flexed her hand multiple times. "Kill." She made a gun with her fingers and aimed.

He nodded. Flashing them a thumbs up, Ben already planned on buying a handgun for next year. Tommy's machete swung in midair, a whooshing preceding the blade. A ripple of euphoria distracted him from the perverseness of the action. No wonder people talked about this night like they talked about getting high.

"And watch where you swing that." Callisto shot him a dirty look. "Don't want to take off your own leg."

A loud squealing whistle caught their attention. Fireworks blasted off in the middle of the four way intersection. A drunk red neck sat in a lawn chair with a case of beer next to him. Ben squinted and stepped forward but both women pushed him back. A shotgun glinted under the lamplights.

"Fucken Eddie." Rory muttered under her breath.

"THE Eddie?" Ben craned for better view while not trying to draw attention.

"Watch out for his gang." Callisto whispered. "Eddie's a violent thief, murderer, among other things. He sees you, you-"

"-run. I know." He shook his head and wondered if they thought he was twelve years old.

Rory's hand raised to silence them. Four men in redneck hunting gear and automatic rifles entered the intersection. A loud siren pierced the air as a car slammed through the stop sign and veered toward Eddie. Erratic across gunfire sprayed the vehicle and killed a tire. Leaping out his lawn chair, half the beer case tore away with the car. Beer cans bounced off the pavement and sprayed a fine mist. A long string of cursing chased away the uneasy silence.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The driver of the crashed vehicle draped across the front seat angling to the ground.

He flinched as blood sprayed the angry Eddie.

"The night's still young." She promised him. "Stay out of sight. Eddie kills everyone except his goons."

Rory cut down the sidewalk while the gang laid the body on the pavement and kicked his ribs in. Callisto ran after her. Ben nearly tripped over his own feet in haste to follow. They rounded the corner and entered the middle of an epic bitching match.

"Puta cabeza de crack. Mi hombre no te necesita. Soy todo lo que necesita."

"Perra, ¿dónde está a las 3 de la mañana? ¡Conmigo! Tu culo de perra llamándolo sabiendo muy bien dónde está."

Two women half dressed and waving around weapons dangerous in more capable hands stood on opposite sides of the street shouting at the top of their lungs. Rory veered around them as if this were normal.

"Vete a la mierda."

"No. Vete a la mierda."

Ben let out a whistled, dragged by his arm along the same path Rory chose. "What are they saying?"

"Don't know. Don't care." Callisto let go after they neared the alleyway.

The rumbling of large trucks disrupted the relatively non-violent bitching.

Callisto grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the alley. They hunched between two dumpsters shoulder to shoulder.

His heart thumped so violently he thought it'd explode from his chest. His sister sat still as a statue. He bet she'd slap him hard if he touched her.

"We're supposed to be protectors." She whispered softly, so softy he believed that he didn't hear her.

Soldiers, because that's what they looked like to him, marched along the street. Two bullets rang out, the screams of the dead women an afterthought on the minds of the killers. A chill ran down his spine and curled in his gut. Murderers. The weight of his machete anchored his hand and deadened the euphoria.

A long semi truck slunk by harmlessly.

He hoped to never end up in the videos. In fact, he swore he'd never watch another video from that site. Once this night was over, he was joining the Anti-Purge club.

_Callisto_

She shook so hard she almost dropped Darling onto the ground.

"We're supposed to be protectors." She whispered in an attempt to calm her rising frustration. It came as no surprise to her the government participated this night. The NFFA's prayer, blasphemous to the core, said it all. They wanted bloodshed and death, not peace or a strong economy. If the economy stood on its own merits, Purge night and the 28th amendment wouldn't exist.

Her brother turned his head toward her but said nothing. The truck's tail end gradually disappeared from their immediate sight.

"And they have machine guns in the back of their trucks and SWAT teams. We're a couple of lone kids." Rory hissed at Callisto across Ben.

"What building are they going to hit now?" She insisted stubbornly.

The poor suffered the most this night. Statistics proved 50% of the elderly over the age of 60, and 76% of the elderly 70 and older died each year. The elderly population significantly dwindled in the last two years, happily annotated by the government and hushed by the government controlled media. The internet, restrictions aside, let slip facts here and there. Most citizens refused to participate, but the 1% - they participated.

"I'm not watching innocents die out here, Rory." Callisto pulled away from the wall. Ben shoved her back into it as a soldier circled back. Her hand gripped his.

Closer the masked soldier inched toward their hiding spot.

"Did you piss yourself?" Rory sniffed the air around Ben.

Ben let go of Callisto's hand just in time for the soldier thrust a rifle in their face.

She lunged forward and tackled the soldier to the ground. Knee pads banged off pavement. Darling plummeted toward the man's unguarded neck. Rory aimed for the soldier's head, twisting away the barrel at the last second as Callisto's head bobbed into view. They struggled too long for the soldier to not gone unnoticed!

Her arms shook. If – she – just – pulled a -superman!

She flinched away from the spray of blood. Ben dislodged his machete from the man's face. "You okay?"

"Grab the rifle and check for other weapons." She whispered breathlessly.

Multiple men walked into the alley from the back end. Callisto looked up and paled. Face painted in mocking war paint, Danny Voske lead the small gang towards them. Her hand slipped toward her pistol.

"Hello beautiful." He called out far too loudly. His face screwed up and he looked away from the dead body.

Her eyes shot toward the street the truck advanced down. No one entered into view. She pressed a finger to her lips. He cocked his head and nodded toward the street.

Ben checked the safety on the rifle. Callisto pat down the dead body quickly. Stripping down the corpse for its armor, she didn't flinch away from the blood that stained it. Ben's eyes traveled down the alley toward a group of men creeping through the dark. Rory tucked herself behind the dumpster.

"Purging alone this year, Cali?" A familiar voice called out.

Grateful for the mask, she checked Darling's edge against the soldier's shirt. "Ben and I decided to purge together this year." She replied coolly and flipped up her mask. "The gang's smaller. The dealers going door to door collecting fees?"

Danny advanced toward the end of the alley and peeked out. "You're in the clear."

"They only march toward low income buildings." Ben said. "We live in one. Mom's not safe. We should head back, Cali."

Sheathing Darling, Callisto bristled under the concern. What if they were after the building her mother lived in? What if they were going to attack Hertford's Assisted Living? "We should check in on the Home first. They're more vulnerable. Mom's higher up." Her eyes drifted toward one of the men in the back of the gang rolling his neck dramatically.

"Not tonight." Danny flashed a big grin.

Ben launched himself at Danny. The pair fell back into the middle in a mess of limbs and fists.

Gunfire in the distance startled her out of the spell of disbelief. She ran toward the corner and peeked for a better view. Back pressed to the wall, she breathed deeply. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This couldn't be any worse than it already was!

She yelled at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. The handsome stranger chuckled. "I have weapons, you dick!" She threw a punch and nailed him in the shoulder. He rubbed it tenderly where she tapped him through the black jacket he wore.

"First year on the Purge Tour. Did I miss anything?" He leaned in too close for her comfort.

Turning her back to the street, she crossed her arms. "You're not bloody yet. And you're with him." She glared at Danny fending off blows from above as Ben poured his anger into each blow. "Enough! Act you damned age!"

Pulling Ben off Danny by the protective vest, Callisto stumbled back into the dumpster and caught herself before she slammed into it. A string of cursing escaped Ben's mouth.

Two purgers dressed in ghoulish masks and black robes dashed past and stopped to stare at them curiously. Ben flipped them off and ducked a punch from Danny. Callisto threw herself in between the two, arms thrust outward at each body. "One more punch not aimed at a government soldier and I will kill you both myself. Grow the fuck up and move out, Ben."

"Next time, arsehole." Ben shaped his fingers into a gun and cocked his hand back. Readying the rifle, he fell in step behind his sister. Callisto inhaled and exhaled.

"Next time I tell you to not start something, you don't start something, idiot!" She slapped him upside the head. He winced. "Waste of energy."

"I'm a waste of energy?" Danny blocked her path.

She crossed her arms, the urge to thrust Darling through his chest and disloyal heart growing. "No. I said causing trouble with you was a waste of energy. It solves nothing and no one benefits. Ben, are we clear?"

He walked to the street, peered around the corner, glanced both ways twice, and then motioned for her to join him.

She dropped her mask back down. Walking past him, she connected with his shoulder and their eyes locked. She prayed they left right after her so that Rory could follow safely. Exposing Rory now was suicidal. They stepped out onto the sidewalk and hastened toward their mother's apartment building and Hertford's Assisted Living.

"What's the plan?" Ben whispered.

Her jaw clenched and hands hurt from curling into a fist. She loathed this night with a fiery passion. Already two women died – quickly by the state of their bodies sprawled on the sidewalks and the pool of blood staining the cement. "We visit Hertford's Assisted Living and then move on to help Mom." She answered seriously. "How'd it feel to hit the bastard?"

"Can we go back? I have a few more punches to throw." He jerked his thumb back at the group of seven men, all armed and geared up for Armageddon. "The door. Jabs about your degree-"

"Fuck him. He's a dealer anyway. He only cares about the green." She shook her head, braided hair firmly pinned in place on top her head. All buttoned up and ready to check on the most vulnerable citizens in the town, Callisto intended to reinforce her reputation as defender of the weak and helpless. "Although the color of money is a soft green that would look nice paired with a black or white. Can't stand brown."

He laughed at her and caught himself before he stepped right onto a drain. "One day you're going to design my home."

"If we can afford one."

"Don't talk like that." His voice dipped and a hint of sadness slid into their exchange. "I know the odds, but we have to have the faith."

She held out her fist to him and bumped knuckles.


	3. Chapter 3

_Ben_

He envisioned the streets during the day – people ignoring the stop sign at Westlake and 4th; cell phone drivers cruising down the trap house road commonly known as Constitution Boulevard; drug dealers working the streets and undercover cops trying to pose as buyers and suppliers; cars backed up at the construction dragging on for months. The usual honking horns, loud music, and occasional wailing of sirens vacated tonight's streets.

The sound of nothing struck fear into him.

They picked up the pace at the corner of 3rd.

"You okay?" Callisto asked him softly.

He detected the concern and appreciated it. Even when they were younger and both held part of the blame, they held their silence like champions. "Don't tell Mom."

She swayed, focused on the mission with the same determination he witnessed directed toward her degree. "Didn't plan on it."

"Are you okay?" He asked.

She shrugged far too casually for it to be a first time occurrence. "It's all good."

"What if he follows us?" Ben glanced over his shoulder. Danny and his group disappeared from their immediate proximity, but he doubted Danny would let his sister walk away so easily on a night where murder and rape were two of the top ten crimes committed.

Her head turned as well. "Don't get cornered."

Don't get cornered. Simpler said than done. A siren lurched through the night air about their heads. Callisto dove for cover at the corner. Ben lined up with a lamp post. A spray of bullets peppered the curb behind them.

"Run!" She shouted at him.

Panting, he slowed to an immediate stop after double checking to see the bullet pattern limited to the line of sight at the corner of 2nd and Lexington. His blood chilled.

A pile of bodies mowed down by merciless bullets built up in front of Hertford's Assisted Living. Two soldiers carried a live, calm white-haired woman toward the back of a trailer hitched to a truck. Ben lifted a rifle Callisto pillaged from the soldier and unloaded on the soldiers that stepped away from the woman. Two bangs to his left preceded the partner dropping to their knees then face first to the curb. His heart threatened to remove from his chest. Shooting someone – damn! The power!

A pat on the back and his sister scooped up the woman before she joined her neighbors in the realm of the dead. Ben threw aside hesitation, stripping the soldiers of their government issued assault rifles and extra ammunition as quickly as his inexperienced hands permitted.

A carpet of broken glass lead them into the two story assisted living home. They picked their way toward zigzagged bodies of young men Ben recognized as volunteers who visited his sister two weeks ago. They promised to help on this night, and their sacrifice created a horrific mosaic on the gray tiled floor. Blood seeped around the shards, the shards defining abstract shapes.

"We told them it was hopeless." The old woman explained.

His head whipped towards her. He almost blamed her for this until he remembered his mother's words. 'Don't blame someone else for the actions you take.' These people died to protect, and he wouldn't cheapen their last moments.

"I asked for help this year. I didn't expect people to actually help." Callisto answered him. "Where are the others?"

"In the basement. I slept through the role call. I should pay for my slip. If you just leave me in my room-" She struggled to breathe. Callisto sagged under her weight. Ben scanned the immediate area for threats and exits. The truck in the street threatened their immediate survival if they did not reach a location of safety. Hiding anywhere in this building increased the chances of survival.

"No." Ben refused. "We'll take you to the shelter."

"The doors won't open until 7." The woman argued. "Please just let me sleep the night through. I have earned my death. You have not."

His sister's jaw worked back and forth, and her mind furiously attempted a solution he wanted to support. "Where's your room?" She finally asked.

Following the woman's directions, Ben lead while his sister and the old woman tailed. They entered a small room cluttered with furniture and a twin sized bed. With help Callisto lowered the woman into the covers.

"Could you lock the door on your way out?" She asked one last favor.

Consenting to her request, the siblings faced each other. Ben handed over one of the rifles he claimed from the dead soldiers. "We need to ensure the safe room is locked." Old people tended to be forgetful, and he didn't want to risk the lives of others for face value of someone's account.

She clapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to lead the way.

An unearthly quiet dominated the two story building. A ticking clock in the main corridor startled him, his sister chuckling at his expense. He kept head down and eventually stumbled upon the stairwell to the basement. Emergency lighting along the base of the walls lit up a divided basement with the safety room in the back. Constructed of concrete and fitted with a keypad and video monitor, Ben relaxed. The people inside were safe as long as the metal door withstood.

"This can't hold everyone." He gestured to the size of it.

"The pile of bodies outside attest to that." His sister said as she checked the equipment and sniffed the air for gas. "We should clear the building. Give Rory time to reach us."

Agreeing, Ben checked his watch. 7:45. "Floor 1 then Floor 2."

She lead this time. Peeking through the vertical narrow window in the basement door, she cleared the limited field of view. Inching the door open, she slid out onto the first floor and motioned Ben to proceed with caution. They walked slowly down the left wing clearing bedrooms one by one. Left, right, left, right, left, right.

"Poor bastard." Ben remarked at the sight of an overweight man shot dead in his own bed. Someone unplugged the breathing machine – before or after the bullet applied to the temple he didn't know.

Callisto callously brushed it off.

"Does Mom know?" He asked as he cleared a small bathroom.

"About?" She stopped to drink a cup of tap water.

He faced her. "About the sexual assault."

She gulped down the water. "No and if you'll tell her I'll string you up by the balls and make you beg for mercy."

He didn't doubt her seriousness. Their mother worried about the already. He'd be the last person to add onto her anxieties. Paying bills on minimum wage while attending schooling and hoping that the jobs were still there when she graduated was hard enough. Callisto worked her way through community college and Ben planned to take out student loans.

Their life was hard enough without the full truth coming to light.

"Is he dead?" He asked.

She nodded and never looked away. "Killed the bastard myself. First time I ever killed someone." Her hand shook and she and refilled her cup gulping down water like it was alcohol on a Friday night. "I don't like killing, Ben. No one should. But Eddie – he's insane and no one wants to institutionalize him. There's the gangs that migrate from the city for sport in the town. You have the general crazies. Looters. What we're seeing is tame because we're not near stores."

Ben glanced at the dead body once more. "Let's get out of here before it comes back as a zombie."

"DO NOT tempt Mother Nature." She punched him in the arm. "Last thing we need is zombies in the mix."

He chuckled. "At least Eddie won't be destroying the town for fun."

"I prefer that to a zombie Eddie."

Putting on his serious face, Ben breathed. The smell of death would stay with him forever if he survived this night.

_Callisto_

She almost shot Rory in the face.

Coming face to face with Rory in a room in the right wing, the siblings thanked the stars they weren't trigger happy. "A word of warning." Ben scolded.

Breathless and pale, Rory readied her shotgun. "Danny's leading a hunt at his warehouse. The gang is rounding up victims." She rolled her neck and placed her handgun on the bed. Arching back, she flexed her arms above her head and stretched. "You're not on the list, but I am. And Layla."

"Layla isn't in town."

"Thank God for that." Rory said. "I sprinted here after they left the alley. Almost ran into the last soldiers, got picked off by a sniper-"

"We did too." Ben sympathized as he checked under the bed on one knee.

"Hungry more like it." Callisto muttered as she cleared the room and peeked out the black out curtains.

Ben relaxed his weapon. "And they didn't know you were hiding?"

"Thankfully no." Rory leaned on the divider splitting the bedroom between two residents. "The soldiers cleared the building and moved on, by the way."

"It's a good thing they didn't use night vision." Ben pressed his ear to the door.

Callisto sat on the bed and rested her feet. She focused her thoughts on what was important and not whose bed she currently used. "They do. We were probably downstairs when they 'cleared' the building. Which means we need to stop Danny."

"How?" Rory demanded.

She shrugged. "Have they found anyone yet?"

She heard about countries restricting people from traveling to the US during Purge night. Purge tourism became a market after last year proved a 'success'. Some organizations claimed that poverty marked over half the individuals killed.

"I didn't overhear anything. My guess – they already have people rounded up." Rory reported solemnly. She cracked her knees, knuckles and back before picking up her hand gun.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them until Ben opened the bedroom door. "We clear the building and then check on Mom. Then we stop Danny."

"Onward." Rory encouraged.

Callisto handed over her rifle to Rory and lifted the spare off Ben's back. "I like this Ben. Has a spine. A vision."

"Shut up." They bumped fists, each enjoying the back and forth more than the killing they committed.

Callisto pat him on the back. "Let's clear the building, Chief."

They swept through the rest of the right wing, Ben in front, Callisto in the middle, and Rory in the rear. The upper floor devastated them as the soldiers didn't even bother to drag the people out. Most were shot in their beds. Rory swore to never become obese while Ben vowed to seek revenge. Callisto just prayed for the souls departed even though she wasn't particularly religious.

Bloody footprints marked where they've been and where they headed.

8:30 p.m.

"Cali, have you checked your phone yet?" Rory asked.

They waited outside a bathroom and waited for Ben to 'drain the snake'.

"Why?" Callisto eyed up the corridor, a twitchy trigger finger irritating her. After the short pee break they were returning home to check in with their relatives.

"Danny's got a live feed." Rory held up her phone of a live recording. The video framed the interior of a industrial-type setting. A blood splattered face flashed across the handheld screen before panning away toward the proud killer – a muscular white male donning a black mask. "Guess drugs aren't his own source of income."

She turned away in disgust. What did she ever see in that dirtbag? Aside from his good looks and wad of cash, little recommended him to women. Unfortunately the deadly combination of good looks and free flowing cash pulled women in faster than Callisto warned them away.

"Nice rifles too. Top of the line armor…" Rory whistled. "I know where his money went this year."

Rolling her eyes, Callisto relaxed her guard. "Stop drooling over the idiot and his side hustle. I thought you were on my side, not theirs."

"Sometimes you need to remember where we live, Cali" Rory said and turned toward the opening door. Ben flashed a hesitant grin and slung the borrowed rifle across his shoulder. "Ready to go, Newb?"

He glanced at Callisto. "Mom's cell phone is broken."

"You can knock on the door if you want, but I just need to know if the building is still standing and everyone is alive." Callisto announced flatly. Checking the safety on the rifle, she flexed her hand and willed the twitchy trigger finger to relax. "Turn off that damned feed." She stormed off toward the back exit with a confused brother and frustrated friend.

Rory snapped at Ben, who in return asked what her issue was. The argument lasted all the way to the front door of a ransacked apartment building they called home.


	4. Chapter 4

He purchased the warehouse last year after distributing all his drugs on Purge night and collecting the money owed – by forcible possession of their property. At first he intended to make the warehouse a legitimate business. Purge night changed those plans, and with the profits off his illicit drug trade, he outfitted the warehouse with everything a proper businessman needed for success.

Guns, machetes, torture toys, sex toys, and every other malicious suggestion he and his crew stumbled onto like high idiots somehow became a staple for murder tourism this year.

The first group of victims already died at the hands of the foreign killers. He owed his most wealthy client, Nathaniel Lawson, his ex-girlfriend. $20,000 for one head turned a profit margin he dreamed of. Handing over the perfect ten who stomped over his pride and ego turned into the easiest choice he made in his entire life.

Finding her proved to be another challenge. He checked the 'home' but they weren't there. Mrs. White said they left twenty minutes earlier and she didn't know where they headed.

A group of seven fresh victims stood in line, shackled together at the ankles and wrists. Ghost, the whitest man on his crew of underprivileged idiots, walked down the line with sniper support from behind. Unlocking the shackles, he quickly left Murder-Central, the popular nickname the crew decided on after the cement walls towered at fourteen feet high. The maze in front of the victims recorded every interaction from every possible angle, below, eye level and above. Most hid behind bullet resistant clear shields encasing them. Others he expected to replace.

"I have no victim to torment, Sullivan." Lawson spoke up from behind the wall of camera monitors. "My money will grow legs soon."

Danny's jaw clench and he debated on how to handle the impatient brit. "Don't worry. I have your victim." He checked his phone. No texts. No phone calls. No voice mail. Damn. He dialed Callisto's number and reached her voicemail she never set up. He dialed Rory next, surprised when she answered. "Rory! How's the purging?" He winked at Lawson, relieved to prove he could produce results.

Lawson rolled his hands aggressively.

"What do you mean the government finally targeted your building? Is Cali alive?" He held up a finger at the client who leaned in to listen. "I'm going to send help. No. I'm not going to hurt her. I love her, and I'll be damned if she dies tonight. Rory, she's everything to me. We were drunk, it was a mistake." He lied.

Several of the clients behind him exchanged a questioning look before resuming their interest in the carnage about to start below.

Situated in the loft of the factory, a network of catwalks connected the offices and lounge area designated for crew and clients. Three rooms on the main floor, secured behind key pads, cameras, and heavy duty doors, were reserved for more 'extensive' interest. Lawson demanded the use of one room, and Danny intended to watch the entire time as his ex-girlfriend slowly died.

Down to her last breath…

He grinned. "C'mon, sweetcheeks, you know I have family in town too. My grandmother is one of the people you and Cali helped saved. At the very least I owe her that much. Why would I kill the person who helped save my Nana from murder hungry bastards looking for an easy kill. I'm sending over Slick and Ghost. They'll help and Cali won't even have to see my face. You need the help. Ben's soft muscle. He doesn't have it in him to maliciously kill people."

A slight pause before Danny ended the call. "If you want your victim, she's at home. Holding her dying mother while her brother and friend fend off Eddie and his shiners." He shoved the phone into his back pocket and stood in between the U shaped couch, its seated occupants, and the wall of cameras.

"I'll ready myself and retrieve the damsel." Nathaniel Lawson announced cheekily, followed by his partner, another brit that rarely spoke a word the entire evening and refused to take part in the killing in Murder Central.

He used the pager system. "Slick and Ghost to the garage in full armor and weaponry. Retrieval mission." Texting the details to them, he nodded toward the remaining man on the couch. "Your round is next, Mr. Batishchev."

A thick Russian accent accompanied the deep voice. "I am a patient man, Mr. Sullivan. Do you have more vodka?"

Scantily clad in a black bikini, a curvy temptress Danny loved to bed on the side approached with a round tray of ice in a crystal glass. She leaned over and purposefully lingered long enough for the Russian mercenary to admire the lady bumps.

Smiling ear to ear, the man enjoyed his chilled vodka. Gunshots accompanied the vodka in a comforting orchestra the foreigner deliberately savored.

Shoulder to shoulder, Nathaniel Lawson and his cousin Archibald Connors advanced toward the garage structure built in conjunction to the warehouse. Similarly dressed men converged on the entrance to the covered structure guarded by a camera and voice activated gate.

"Slick and Ghost?" Lawson inquired.

One holstered a handgun on his thigh. "Who are we retrieving?"

"Callisto Carter." Lawson answered blandly.

"Seriously?" Ghost demanded.

Lawson shrugged. "If you're unwilling to complete the task,"

Ghost glanced toward a column with a mounted camera scanning the garage lot. "No. Just don't understand what makes her special." He spit at the ground and swigged a mouthful of water before spitting that out too. "She got a nice rack, but the attitude is a bust."

"I'll break that before dawn." Lawson promised.

They claimed a standard black SUV popular in movies. Settling into a leather seat, Lawson turned on the A/C before Ghost counted heads. They passed through the secure gate, skirted a grudge match between Old Man Sanders and the neighbors he feuded with the last six month, and paused at a graveyard to admire a group of nude women in black robes. Gathered around an old tombstone splattered with fresh blood, a severed foot peeked out of the pile of hacked limbs.

"I'll give the yanks their creativity in execution." Archibald Connors said as they illegally parked in front of a driveway of a detached bungalow. The apartment building in the distance swarmed with darting figures shooting at people hunkered down behind a mound of bodies and two parked vehicles artfully decorated with bullet holes. "Your victim is blonde?"

"Yes." Lawson leaned forward and used

Ghost's jaw worked back and forth.

"You fancy the young lady?" Lawson turned to one half of his escort. "The chest is big but not big enough to attract a wealthy suitor, and her face is plain." He leaned in close to the driver of their getaway vehicle, poking at an obvious sore point.

"Why Cali?" Ghost demanded.

"Why not her?"

"Specifically, why her? Why not another blonde?" Ghost sipped his water, careful to avoid a dangerous bathroom stop on streets littered with people gunning for revenge or thrill. "What makes her 'the one'?"

Nathaniel revealed a printed photograph of a lookalike. "There are some people you have to kill."

"That's not Callisto."

"Your friend is a close match, and I will kill her tonight. This is your opportunity to walk away. Your employer will be informed you were separated in the exchange of gunfire." Lawson calmly explained, spooking Slick in the back seat. Archibald shook his head and flicked the safety off. He opened the door of the vehicle and used it as cover.

Lawson opened his door and scanned the immediate surroundings. Detached homes in rough condition adjacent to an apartment building with a pile of dead bodies spread across the handicapped parking spots. Most certainly an American scene, if he were to summon imagery at the snap of his fingers. Stupid yanks killing their own and they were too blind to realize the damage it caused to their societal structure. He celebrated their losses as his gains. Gleefully, in fact.

Shrapnel decorated the buildings on either side and slaughtered a bird that roosted on a roof top. "Eddie's trap." Slick explained in passing. He shouldered the corner of the damaged residence closest to the action and aimed at the back of Crazy Eddie's most reliable sleuth. "Moonshiners. Can't trust any of them."

"The old redneck and misfits?" Archibald asked, aiming low from the new position of a retaining wall a few feet behind Slick.

"Every year he boobytraps the streets for no enrichment of his own." Slick explained. "Last year he loaded a shed with fireworks and caught it on fire. Burned down three houses and killed ten people."

"He deserves a medal for being an innovative bastard."

"Eddie is a legend." Slick fired and hit his target head on. The front of Trentan Brinks head exploded outward. He missed Trentan's brother by an inch before dropping out of line of sight. A bullet zinged their way, the consequential explosion of each bullet expelled from the barrel closer as the furious Brendan Brink switched from Rory, Benjamin, and a pissed off Callisto to the unknown killer.

Eddie ran for cover, abandoning his last supporter to the combined cross fire abruptly ending the fool's run of luck. Rory's head poked out from behind the bumper of the first vehicle. Benjamin appeared from the opposite side leveling a government issued rifle Lawson salivated over. Their target completed the trio of deadly rifles advancing forward in rapid confrontation.

"Slick." She lowered the rifle upon recognition. "I thought you told him to fuck off, Rory."

"I did. He didn't listen." Rory responded suspiciously. Her rifle stayed upright ready to kill. Ghost lounged against the front of the SUV and observed coolly. "You can leave now."

Lawson put his hands in the air and walked forward. "You have a spot-"

"Touch me and I'll drop you." Callisto aimed at the pasty brit's head. "Ghost, clear on out. Tell Danny we don't need his help."

"You going to track down Eddie?" Slick demanded.

She shook her head. "The home is safe. Mom is dead. Tracking down Eddie is the last of my problems. I'm going to hunt down those mother-"

"Mom wouldn't want that."

"Mom is dead, Ben!" She switched the focus of her rifle from Lawson to the street. "I don't think it matters anymore what Mom would want. I don't have a job that can pay rent and you are graduating this year. From High School. We're fucked. Without lub-"

Slick reached for his handgun and rested his hand on the grip casually. He nodded slightly toward Archibald Connors. Lawson dared to step closer toward Callisto, the taser barely visible. "A lady should restrain her tongue."

"Fuck off!" The siblings shouted in unison before raising fingers and pointing at each other.

He shrugged. A bullet zinged past and missed Rory's shoulder. Lawson jammed the taser into Callisto's side, unleashing the voltage into the young woman seconds before a bullet pierced Ben's shoulder and drove him to one knee. Slick pressed the barrel of the handgun to Ben's temple, temporarily subduing the senior high schooler.

Lawson dragged the weakened Callisto to the SUV. Archibald fired at Rory, nipping at her heels as she scrambled for cover. The group backed toward the SUV, Slick never lowering his hand gun. Shoved head first into the vehicle, Callisto struggled against her captors. Lawson squeezed into the back seat haphazardly. Grabbing at her mobile arms, he hooked a zip tie around her wrists expertly. Archibald lifted her legs and slid underneath, slamming the door shut and motioning to Ghost to get a move on before Rory and Ben adapted and overcame. Contorting himself beneath his victim, Lawson held her in place by the back of her neck.

A perfect lookalike for his baby sister.

The car jerked forward and peeled out of the street at top speed in reverse.

He traced a finger down her bloody cheek much like he would a sleeping baby. A steady stream of swearing spewed from Callisto's mouth.

"A lady practices polite conversation, Pet." He warned kindly.

Archibald pinned Callisto's squirming legs.

"I told you to refrain your wild American tongue." He lowered the taser into her view. "Now be a good pet and lay still. The ride will be short and you'll be reunited with your dear mother at dawn. Upon my honor, I give you my word."

"Ghost?!"

Ghost faced forward white knuckling the steering wheel.

Lawson curled his hand around her throat and squeezed. "This is your last warning, Pet." He softened his voice and relaxed his hand.

A handgun thrust into his toying, pressed to her cheek. Slick's cold expression and aggressive body language warmed Lawson up to a different idea. "You're doing it wrong. She doesn't submit unless she's in mortal danger. We told you. She's the attitude of the town. If you don't stop fighting, Cali, I'll hunt down your brother and kill him in front of you. Do you understand?"

She lifted her cuffed hands flipped him both middle fingers.

"Glad we understand each other." Slick pulled back the favored hand gun and faced forward to look out for further threats. "Try not to hit every pothole in the damned town on your way back." He snapped at Ghost.

Ghost flipped him the middle finger in reply.


	5. Chapter 5

_Callisto_

She spied the time in the SUV. 9:26 p.m. If the clock told the truth, it meant she still faced a long night ahead – likely filled with pain. Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to breathe. Self-therapy focused her thoughts elsewhere and away from the face of the first male she ever feared.

Dragged through a covered parking lot, Callisto prayed her brother and best friend survived the abrupt shootout. A baby – that's all Ben was in comparison to the people who preyed on the homeless, foolish, or unfortunate. If Ben died tonight because of her, she'd never forgive herself. If she survived tonight…No. She needed to think positively. She will survive this night.

She will.

"Murder Central?" Callisto challenged Slick.

They approached the gateway into the factory. Pristine stenciling spelled out the aptly named death center. Blood splatters and dragging stains painted the floor in walls in grotesque décor.

"You have a better name?" Slick demanded, as if personally insulted.

She shrugged. "Home of your grave."

He raised his hand to backhand her.

"You do not hit a lady." A crisp English accent startled her. She twisted in her escorts grip and stared at him in confusion. "Nor lay hands on another man's victim."

Her brow raised. "You're all crazy."

Why would any person in their right mind risk their life on Purge night when they originated outside the US? Half the world looked at the US as if it fell on every branch in the stupid tree. A few nations toyed with the Purge experiment, although they were nations plagued by poverty or simply attempting to determine how effective of a tool it was to control the population. England believed the US lost its mind, as did most americans who refused to participate on Purge night.

Slick blocked her path and stood toe to toe with her. "You wouldn't be in this position if you didn't drop Dan."

"He cheated on me with Rory. While he was drunk." Her face burned and blood boiled. Flirting with an ex while they dated in the early weeks is one thing, but physically cheating on her – that crossed a line.

"You forgive a man for a one night stand." The second Englishman declared.

She side eyed him. Two crazies from 'across the pond'. "Rory is my best friend, wanker."

"The yank knows our slang." The second Englishman bowed. "All hail the Queen Victim."

One look traded between the two foreigners and she stumbled forward over her own feet. Slick held the metal door open for her. The weapons cleaning station rinsed off bloodied blades and offered a padded booth and table space for the dismantling and cleaning of weapons. In the middle of the table, Danny Sullivan sprang up out of his seat and walked toward her arms open.

"Cali. You look radiant." His voice bubbled with vibrant energy.

Her lip twisted. Many choice words jumped, none more vulgar than she already dared. "How much?"

"A business man never makes his finances public. You know this." She curved away from his hand and back into the chest of her escort. "Cali, Cali, you should have listened…" He pressed his palm against her cheek and caressed like a familiar lover. She shuddered.

"Fuck you. How dare you put Layla and Rory on your list?" Her escort tightened his grip on her arm. She tensed, stuck between a rock and a hard place with a hanging anvil waiting to crush her should she manage to escape both the rock and hard place.

He flashed a full grin at her. "I no longer need them. They'll be next year's amusement."

She launched forward, held back by a passive foreigner never loosening his grip.

"Any regrets before you die tonight?" Danny taunted arms crossed.

"Yes. You!" She shouted at him as her escort walked her away from the clusterfuck of sated killers. "I'll see you in hell, asshole!"

He waved after her and shifted gears once she left his sight. She heard him spitting out orders to Ghost and Slick before hearing a gun shot.

Callisto stumbled along the smoky maze of cement walls and doorless entrances and exits to rooms without a ceiling. They exited the maze into a corridor locked by a metal door secured with a fingerprint and keypad panel. They entered a corridor lined with equally guarded rooms.

"You don't have to do this." She said, skin crawling. Old memories bubbled to the surface like chicken pox. "We can both walk away from this."

He shoved her into the small lounge, blinding bright lights illuminating the luxuriously decorated space. Bracing against the back of a high back chair, she twisted her wrists in the plastic cuffs. "This room is monitored by cameras. I wouldn't attempt to escape, Pet." She started at the hot breath of her neck.

A loud click resounded in the room. She breathed deeply, heady with claustrophobia and a very real fear she would not survive the night.

"I don't know your name." She said, blanking on how to spice up the conversation and stall her death sentence. "And if there is anything I know about the British, good manners are as much part of your blood as your love of the Queen."

He faced her. "Nathaniel Lawson."

"Callisto Carter." She introduced herself. "Interior design student."

"You have an eye for color?" He brushed a stray hair out of her face. "Or do you favor a more neutral color scheme?"

Her lip twisted nervously. "Depends on what I'm trying to invoke. Classic combinations will never go out of style." Why did he have to be handsome and British? Why?!

He removed his gloves and flexed baby smooth hands. Brushing her hair front to back, he looked her in the eye. "Are you religious?"

"Are you?"

His lips pressed her to ear. "I may not be as deceitful as your former lover, Pet, but make no mistake, I am capable of inflicting immense pain on your delectable physical form. I do not wish to mutilate you, but if I must to receive answers, I will." He rested his hand on her waist and pulled away pleasant as any normal person on a 'good day'.

She inhaled sharply. "No."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Pet." He walked her around the chair and gently lowered her onto the soft gray couch.

Any other day, any other situation she may have considered him a cute guy worthy of her number. "Danny is an asshole and will kill you before the night is through. Trust me."

Framing her face with his hands, his warm brown eyes connected with a checklist of what she considered attractive. "Pet, breathe. I have until 7 am to end your life. I intend to enjoy every moment." He kissed her forehead and stepped back.

Layers of body armor shed onto the chair followed by his weapons – a survival knife in a black sheathe, a hand gun in its holster, and a fancy machete. He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles before kneeling in front of her. He took her helpless hands in his and traced the lines along her palm. She watched him nervously, leaning away from further physical contact.

He kissed her knuckles and dropped her hands in her lap. "What will we do? A pretty young thing with a bright future cut short at 7 am. Thoughts? Or would you prefer to stay silent?" His friendliness threw her off, her mind scrambling for a way out.

"I'd prefer to go home alive." She said. "Which you are capable of allowing. If you were as much a gentleman as you're acting now."

He stood and walked to a cabinet. She glanced around quickly, spotting the two cameras tucked into the room's corners with zero attempt at camouflage. No doubt Danny watched the live footage and would kill her if Lawson did not. Threat of public hanging wouldn't stop him, and his warehouse of co-conspirators would say nothing.

In short – without interference, she was dead.

Nathaniel – no, that name was too personal for what he intended to do to her. Lawson. Yes, that name better fit for her current anxieties.

Lawson laid out surgical equipment and crude tools – some she suspected purchased directly from a store like Lowes or Home Depot or the local hardware store that she wondered how they made rent given the lack of business during most days. Thought went into this place, the profits from Danny's dealing clearly dedicated to the surveillance and security efforts. She suspected the inside of the factory originated in the mind of an engineer or artist. Hopefully the person received their money's worth for designing the murder maze. She couldn't fault people for following a paycheck in this rough economy.

The desk hosting the display pressed against the wall, an area she wanted to avoid at all costs. "If you're going to – is that really necessary?" She gestured to the tools meant for victims on Purge night.

He half turned to her. "I need to know what is on these shelves, Pet." He answered casually, as if this were normal.

"Do you plan on using it?" She demanded.

His lip twisted. "That is a thoughtful question. I haven't considered it. Thank you for reminding me of the options at my fingertips."

"Do you mind removing these cuffs?" She shifted her arms to better the blood flow, accomplishing nothing but her own continued discomfort.

"Yes. Yes, I do mind if I remove them, you'll attempt to escape and kill me, and I can not permit that." He shook a finger at her and chuckled. "I admire the spirit. A shame I will extinguish it."

"They hurt." She whined.

He shook a finger at her and held up a pair of metal cuffs by two fingers.

She shook her head. One bad night of rough sex with handcuffs turned her off of that particular kink.

"A woman with a softer touch. I admire that." He dropped the cuffs on the table and rooted around the cabinet, completely emptying it onto the desk. He turned around with sex tape and a growing grin. "Americans. Never can predict them."

Her eyes gravitated to the desk top cluttered with torture toys. "I suppose asking nicely to go home alive would be met with deaf ears?" She begged.

His head bobbed. "How perceptive you are, Pet."

She flinched at the brush of his knuckles across her cheek. He tilted her chin up and forced their eyes to connect. "If you fight, I will make you pray for a merciful death. Do you understand me, Pet?" He whispered.

She nodded. If she bided her time, someone might rescue her. Her would-be killer might change his mind. All she had to do was wait and spring into action at an opportune moment. Key word – opportune moment. She needed to escape this room first.

"I'm going to cut your cuffs and tape your wrists together. You're going to sit still like a good girl and make me happy." He pat her cheek and wedged scissors between her wrist and the plastic. Callisto held her breath and shook her freed wrists. Freedom lasted several seconds before red tape bound them together in a less abrasive manner. "Such a good girl. You may yet earn a pleasant death, Pet."

His lips pressed to her cheek.

Shame pooled in her gut and fueled a hatred of the fear paralyzing her. She tried to vocalize a request to use the bathroom, the request replaced by stunned silence when he rolled his sleeves and unveiled a large cross tattoo masterfully applied to his forearm in fine detail and exquisite color.

He turned his forearm for better admiration. "He's an exclusive artist. He'll be pleased to know his art is appreciated by yanks."

"Before we – uh – engage in any further – uh – interactions, I need to use the bathroom. Unless you prefer to smell or be covered in urine." She shrugged. "Pretty, please."

His eyes flicked to her legs before he pulled her up by the arm. "If this is a ploy-"

"It's not." Her pulsing bladder demanded release.

He walked her to the side bathroom built in the back the room. While he positioned her back to the toilet, he unzipped her pants and yanked down her spandex shorts. "I applaud the effort, Pet, but not all men are rapists." She breathed deeply and looked away as he pulled down her underwear and helped her sit on the toilet seat.

In complete and total humiliation, her bladder let loose and she prayed to whatever entity embodied justice that this never made it to the internet. Reaching for the toilet paper, he thrust a handful into her cupped hands and watched her clean and dry before dropping the soiled paper into the toilet. Without a word he helped her back to her feet, redressed her while looking her in the eye, and stood behind her to wash her hands. Throughout it all, she wanted death to strike her down in that very spot.

He rested his hands on her hips. "How did you ever believe your ex-lover wouldn't betray you?" He whispered in her ear.

"Danny is a narcissistic asshole who only loves money." She answered, wiping her hands on her pants. "You have money. It's why you're here."

His hands moved up her side in leisurely appreciation of her form. "You chose him."

"Not before I learned the real him." She snapped back. Danny took her wristwatch so she could check the time. Her body ached from the long night and its string of events. "If you're going to kill me, how are you going to kill me?"

Breath against her neck, her captor squeezed her ribs beneath her breasts. "You keep speaking as if I will not kill you. A foolish notion." He turned her around and wrapped his hand around her throat. Fingers squeezed, cutting off air until she no longer steadied her body without his assistance.

They let up and fresh air replenished starved lungs. Thrust back into the other room, she faced the horrific layout again. No clock on the wall clued her in to the time.

Do not give Danny the pleasure of watching her beg. Do not bow to his sadistic anger.

He set her down on the couch and stepped back. Staring up at the ceiling in fresh shock, Callisto gathered her wits. She sat upright into a backhand that turned her head. Cheek stinging and eyes watery, she blinked away the tears. His hand wrapped around her neck again, hauling her to her feet and forcing her over to the desk.

"Pick one."

"No."

"Pick one, Pet, or I will hand you back over to the ex-lover you fear." He whispered.

She almost cried. "Please don't."

He kissed her neck. "Do that again. Beg."

Her pride crawled under a rock and buried itself beneath shame and guilt. She promised Ben to get him through the night alive. She promised her mother to return home. She promised Layla to be the 'vodka' aunt. She had a degree to finish!

"Please stop this." Her voice shrank.

"Stop what? Showing you the many ways I am capable of harming you? Assuring you by 7 am you will you take your last breath?" He mocked. The accent she loved turned into a nightmare, no longer attractive or sexy. He played with her ability to breathe before slamming her head into the wall and tossing her backwards to the floor.

Callisto blinked, head swimming, and crawled forward. A loud click disturbed the violent anger management session. "Your bottle of wine and ice as requested." A familiar voice pierced the pain swamping her.

"Give my compliments to Mr. Sullivan." Her captor said in the mock manners his upbringing likely instilled in him. The door shut with another loud click.

A flat boot pressed down on her back. She gave up and lay still, head still swimming with pain induced fear.

"You can pretend to be weak, but you don't strike me as the type to give up at the minor inconvenience of a bleeding forehead." The pouring of wine into a glass broke the casual disinterest he had for her well-being. "It is most amusing – watching you cringe and crumble with an application of physical intimidation."

She grit her teeth. "I wonder if Danny knows what you think of him."

"You put it so eloquently yourself. He only cares for money and I have supplied him a large sum." Lawson sipped the wine with a sparkle in his eye. "You should ask why, Pet."

Shifting her wrists beneath her chest, she prayed the tape slipped. "Well, as you're British, I would assume you're just an arsehole who likes fags and wine you purchase at an auction house." She answered in supreme satisfaction.

He laughed, a charming laugh if he weren't trying to kill her. She barely breathed before a hand curled in her hair and pulled her head upward at an unnatural angle. "I prefer cigars to fags, but you are correct in stating I am a bastard who prefers expensive wine and the occasional warm body of personal amusement. Would you share in my wine before I continue our game?"

She grimaced. "How generous of the killer. What next? An offer of bandaging my wounds before you deliver my body to my mother?" Tears rolled down her cheeks at the slip of the tongue. Didn't matter now since her mother was dead.

He slammed her head into the ground causing an explosion of acute pain and more blood leaking onto her forehead, brow, and ground. More pouring, an abrupt removal from the cold tiled floor, and the thrusting of wine glass in her face balanced the disoriented wary Callisto. "Your sass is the only reason I have not removed your tongue. Drink. You earned it, Pet."

She winced and considered the offering, a decent stalling attempt. "How exactly have I earned it?" She sniffed it and studied the contents with skepticism.

"Begging is tasteless. Tearful, crying women hugging to your leg as you aim the pistol at the forehead and thank them for their quality company. Did you honestly believe you were my first? Foolish girl." He stared at her in restrained disgust bordering on overconfidence in his own abilities. He pointed his handgun at her, finger hovering over the trigger. "Drink. I insist."

Under threat of bullet, Callisto sipped the wine as slow as he tolerated.

"Finish it." He ordered, barrel pressed to her breast.

She swallowed hard. "Do I at least learn your name?"

He refilled the empty space of her glass skillfully while holding the gun to her chest. "Your ex-lover provided the pseudonym Nathaniel Lawson. When you near your last breath, I shall share the true name of the monster tormenting you."

She almost spit out the wine.

He dabbed at her mouth with a white cloth. "Manners are of utmost importance, Miss Carter."

Of all the boundaries he overstepped, he chose to use her last name in an attempt to be polite!

"Do not look at me in that manner. I did not sell you for $20,000." He scolded her, dabbing at the blood on her forehead. "Drink up."

The headiness snuck up on her by the second glass. Third glass in and she no longer had the strength to fight him off. He pulled the empty glass from her bound hands, leaned in close, and embraced her as a lover after rough sex. His hand curled around her head, stroking messy hair fondly before releasing her and smacking her with the opposite hand.

Blood mingled with wine poured directly from the bottom of the bottle. She choked it down and lay sideways on the couch in demure helplessness. Her vision went dark at the mercy of his strong hands.


	6. Chapter 6

_N. Lawson_

Propping the door open, Nathaniel Lawson cleaned up the small mess he made while venting his frustrations. Callisto Carter lay in the center of the floor breathing evenly. He nudged her ribs with his foot, satisfied when she twitched in discomfort.

"I see your amusement is incapacitated." Archibald Connors stepped into the room, casting an evil eye about the room and its array of 'tools'.

"I'll wake her once I've enjoyed a glass in peace." Nathaniel answered from the desk displaying the wide array of weapons. "You're not enjoying yourself?"

Making himself comfortable on the couch, he waved his hand about. "It's not thrilling to kill indiscriminately. I want a target deserving of death. The worst of the worst." He watched the woman breathe in obvious relief.

"We can find someone."

"It's already –" He checked his gold watch. "10:07. I'm not worried, Mate."

Nathaniel handed over the glass of wine. "There's always next year."

"What are your plans for Sienna's double?" Archibald weighed the full glass in his hand.

They stared at the bruised Callisto a moment before drinking. Nathaniel used his victim as a foot rest. "Her sass is charming. I'm going to savor it a while longer. A quick bullet to the head will suffice."

"Is a bullet necessary? She doesn't know who you are. A brutal beating isn't enough?"

"Are you going soft, cousin?" Nathaniel teased.

The younger man's jaw worked. "Senseless killing serves no purpose. I understand your sister is impossible to hide and control, but this female is not Sienna." He nudged Callisto again, relieved to see her chest rise and fall evenly.

Nathaniel smirked. "No, she isn't." Nathaniel finished his wine and turned the machete over in his hands. "Fetch the scalpel for me."

"I'll just leave you to your…relief." Archibald didn't try to hide his discomfort and exited the room without ceremony.

Door firmly shut, Nathaniel lay the machete next to the chair. Retrieving the scalpel, he leaned over Callisto and cut the tape. Peeling it off, he considered her with less hatred and more disgust. How dare this poor American resemble his sister, a plastic surgeon's dream client. How dare she live in the same area he toured for purging. This was her fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Turning his back to her, he scanned the table for the next weapon of choice. A meat tenderizer weighed his hand down – his gut twisting. He dropped the tenderizer in genuine disgust. His cousin was right. Callisto wasn't Sienna. Callisto wasn't a prostitute or stripper. Callisto Carter was a model citizen striving for an education.

Damn the morals.

Glaring at the still body sprawled in the middle of the floor, he grabbed the handcuffs. Dragging her to the bathroom, he cuffed her to the handicap bar installed next to the toilet. Pocketing the key, Nathaniel diverted his thoughts to his poorly behaved sister and the damage it caused to the family business.

Income lost because she used illegal drugs and bribed her way out of serious charges. The public backlash to the preferential treatment. Her nudes leaking onto the porn sites – too many for him to tackle – and the public questioning what his parents taught them. Pictures of her consorting with his rivals. The death threats his sister received to this day remained unaware of. One of the biggest deals he was on the verge of making abandoned because he needed to send a rescue team to her. Years of hard work and networking lost because his allies considered him a liability.

Sienna.

In that bathroom was the only woman who closely resembled her. The only woman he could legally kill.

He pointed his hand gun and steadied his growing frustration. A groggy stubborn Callisto blinked rapidly at him. "Pet."

Her eyelids closed.

"How long?" He cocked his head.

She leaned back, eyes closed. "Long enough to not know what scratched my hip. Short enough to hear the click of cuffs." A bleeding scratch peeked out from the shifted pants.

He knelt in front of her out of reach. "The time is 10:15."

"So?"

"I have a choice." He laid it out for her. "Kill you at midnight or kill you seconds before 7 am."

Her eyes fluttered open and she glared at him in a sleepy manner. "Why midnight?"

"Why not, Pet?"

"Why not now?" She jiggled the cuff futilely.

He bowed his head. This back and forth turned him on. Not begging. She demanded answers head on. She held her ground. Admirable, if not stupid. Very American of her. "So eager to die."

"No." She sat up straighter. "Just trying…to understand you." She stared at him in confusion. "A stupid foreigner capable of avoiding this night and then purposefully engaging in it. You have the opportunity to live and risk your life. Are you suicidal?"

He laughed. "Pet, you are truly a gem."

"I'm serious." She gripped the bar for more comfort, half in and half out of the exhaustion. "You have universal healthcare that can address such thoughts."

He laughed harder and finally cleared his throat. "You wouldn't understand."

"I'm cuffed to a bathroom bar. I'm not going anywhere." She closed her eyes and breathed. He watched her fight off the effects of the wine, starting to sink into unconsciousness again.

He bowed his head. She saw too much, knew too much. Callisto Carter couldn't live.

"Just make it quick. All I ask." She mumbled, giving into the exhaustion again.

Before he lost the nerve, Nathaniel knelt over her and pressed the gun to her chest. His fingers hovered over the trigger. Lowering the handgun he remembered his code of honor. It slammed into him with overwhelming shame.

He wanted to kill her.

He killed other people before this night. He shot a rat and traitor a week ago after a raid at his secondary business. Removing diseased prostitutes from the streets and killing predatorial strippers and escorts serviced the people of his home city. Killing an American he paid $20,000 for on a night of legal murder should be easy.

Should.

"Behind you." Callisto whispered.

He turned and dodged the machete. Lodged into the bar narrowly missing Callisto's hand, Danny's chosen weapon wretched free. Nathaniel turned the handgun on Danny unloading the full clip into his exposed thigh and groin. Blood splashed both of them.

Stumbling back into the room, Danny lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood. He sputtered, a single bullet planted between his eyes.

Breathing heavy, he faced her. She blinked rapidly at him.

"Better collect your refund before it's put in the bank." She smirked and passed out promptly.

He lowered the empty weapon and sighed. "Just had to make things difficult, didn't you?" Steady breathing answered him. "Foolish American."

Stepping over the dead Danny Sullivan he donned his armor and dropped the empty clip on the chair. A fresh clip and fully dressed, he reached into his pocket and played with the key. He wasn't finished with her. Shooting in the corridor distracted him long enough to drop the key instead of slipping it in his pocket.

A brief quiet lulled him into a sense of security. He pushed the door open and peered both ways down the corridor. A dead russian mercenary propped open the emergency exit. He cocked his head toward the bathroom holding his prisoner and the obvious break-in by an unfriendly source.

Did the key code work?

Only one way to find out. He closed the door with his foot and tapped in 0927. A reassuring click answered and he opened the room again. If his victim managed to free herself, which he didn't know how since he still had the key, she could escape. Only fair she have a glimmer of hope after saving him from a painful death.

The door to the murder city opened, and Archibald spilled out with a russian mercenary bleeding out of a gaping wound.

He planted a bullet between the mercenary's eyes without a thought. "We need a car-"

"Gate's crashed. No one's getting in with a vehicle and no one's getting out." Archibald informed him bleakly. "The freak from earlier tracked us down with a group of randoms. The backdoor crew didn't make it past Sullivan's lookout, but the rest bombed the front and are taking out everyone in their sights."

His jaw worked. "I'm not leaving my amusement behind."

"You can bring your amusement." Archibald dropped the dead mercenary to the floor. "We need to get out of here before the shiner and his randoms rip through the unarmed victims."

The gunshots sounded closer, and the paranoia switched the ambitious business man's attentions to survival over money.

$20,000 was cheap for a night of amusement.

He spent more at a casino on a Saturday night.

"Grab your amusement and let's leave before its our blood." Archibald warned him. He advanced toward the back exit and hauled the second dead body into the corridor.

Carrying out an unconscious Callisto Carter, Nathaniel Lawson winked at his cousin. "Try to keep her alive before we reach the safehouse."

"You can always leave her behind." Archibald suggested.

Nathaniel shook his head. "You're paying for drinks tomorrow and then we have to contact our buyers to determine their level of satisfaction. Counterfeiters these days are ruining the business of delivering genuine goods and quality services."

"It's a good thing you conduct the business on US soil."

"I'm up tens of millions since they implemented the law. My accountant says I'm ahead of the curve." Nathaniel boasted. " Our motherland disapproves but since I'm not breaking the law-"

"Until they ban transactions committed during the Purge night." Archibald muttered. Legislation was slow, and people fought against new legislation that would hurt their financial accounts. Nathaniel Lawson wasn't alone in his money schemes. He carried out a legitimate family business on English soil that earned him a tidy half million during a bad year. The bulk of his fortune he earned on Purge night. He opened a second business from the first year's proceeds and managed to bring in enough income to be in the black.

He smirked. "You're paid well enough. What are you complaining for?"

"I'm not." Archibald avoided looking at Callisto and cleared the garage. Nathaniel learned how to shoot with one hand, left and right due to a rough raising and falling in with the wrong crowd. Sometimes that same crowd thought he ought to cater to their needs, but in light of his recent success he threw his attentions and adorations elsewhere. "I just think your get rich quick plan is working too well for there not to be a hitch."

They slunk through the vacant garage. The crashed gate blocked vehicles and nearly obstructed the back exit.

"The hitch is that everyone is involved in it and it's a risky business the rest of the year." Nathaniel answered softly. They squeezed through the door that almost refused to open and walked toward the safehouse arranged by Danny Sullivan.

Empty streets graced their uneventful walk back to the block of small houses equipped with surveillance cameras and sturdy doors. Bars on the window prevented break-ins, or break-outs depending on how a person viewed it. Nathaniel fiddled with several keys before unlocking the front door with two keys. Archibald held the door for him, glancing around the eerily quiet street populated with run down cars no one wanted to steal and litter people refused to pick up. Once safe inside the house, both men relaxed.

Nathaniel laid his amusement on the couch and stripped off his protective wear. He shed it into a pile by the fake fireplace.

"Shooting her doesn't seem right after she saved my life." He said to no one.

Archibald checked the locks and the windows. "I thought you were invincible."

"If that were true, I wouldn't take the precautions I do. Check the phones. We have business to attend to." He flicked the switch as quickly as he decided to indulge in a victim. "We'll figure her out." He jerked his thumb at Callisto.

The clock on the fireplace mantle displayed 11:02.


	7. Chapter 7

She blinked back confusion and rolled onto her back. Popcorn ceiling spread across the living room and into the hallway leading to a stairwell. Turning her head she peered into the bluest eyes she saw in the last year. "Sorry." His accent broke her out of the spell.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking your pulse, but obviously you're alive and awake." He cleared his throat and stood. "Miss Carter."

Her brow rose. "Where's dickhead and what time is it?" Her head hurt and she wanted to curl up into a ball again and pass out.

"I am right here." A crisp reply cut across the living room. "Thirsty?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes. As long as it's not alcohol and poisoned." She sensed someone hovering over her and wished the men gave her personal space. "On second thought I can-"

"Allow me."

"No, I-"

"Please. I insist." The nameless foreigner quickly excused himself and disappeared from the room. She stared down Nathaniel Lawson in a state of controlled undress.

The silence stretched, broken only by the gracious unnamed male who handed her a glass of water. She sat upright and planted booted feet on the ground. So far no attempt to attack her. "What time is it?" She demanded.

Nathaniel shot his partner a dirty look she found sexy without knowing why. Rubbing her head, she wished she met him on another day. Maybe she could actually enjoy this attraction without a touch of guilt and shame. "You will live."

"How generous of you." She drawled.

Stupid foreigners. Being evil and handsome at the same time!

"Generosity has nothing to do with the act of mercy. Not all men are without a code of honor. You saved my life. I am sparing yours." He announced dryly and motioned her to drink. "It's 7:14 am."

She didn't believe him.

He handed a phone to her through his partner. "Your brother believes we rescued you. You say one word otherwise and I will hunt you down next year. You're too poor to run far or hide well." The serious tone haunted her more than the polite kindness he directed toward her earlier.

Stupid handsome villains! Why couldn't they all be ugly?

She checked the call history. A ten minute interval between the calls. Voicemail full. She sighed and winced. Her side hurt, no doubt bruising along her ribs from his earlier abuse.

"We'll give you privacy." He cut across her anguished thoughts with a raised glass of something bubbly.

"Right." She flicked him off and walked toward the kitchen.

The phone picked up after the first ring. "Where are you? I'm killing Jamie. We grew up with him and he tries to kill us. You killed him, didn't you? Good."

She rubbed her brow. "No, but trust me you, I plan on hunting him down."

"If you don't, I will." Ben promised darkly.

Her mouth opened and she almost agreed with him, stopped by their mother's teachings. "Violence solves nothing, Callisto. It is a reaction, hasty and unnecessary. Diplomacy should always be the first step toward peaceful resolution. Unfortunately the world forgot about diplomacy and resorts to needless bloodshed." The same conversation carried on throughout the years since 2014, the first purge on Staten Island. If they resorted to violence without diplomacy first…then they betrayed their mother.

Breathing deeply, she glanced toward the living room. "Ben, let me handle it, okay? I know him better than you, and I know what makes him tick. Just let me…persuade him to direct his aggression elsewhere." She fully believed that Slick would drive her into killing him, but she wasn't admitting it to her little brother intent on revenge. It's bad enough that Ben lost their mother and almost lost her in the same night. Wanting to kill people and cause damage wasn't the right path to recovery. Sure, it helped – in the short term. In the long term, they needed therapy. A lot of therapy.

A dinging in the background on Ben's end caught her attention. "If you're dealing with Jamie, are you also going to yell at Gino?"

"Ghost? Nah. Ghost isn't Slick. He's not in the gang for his own pleasure. Danny is helping take care of his family. He owes a loyalty to Danny, but Danny's no longer with us, so…" She breathed easier and leaned against the counter. "Where are you?"

"No where." He answered quickly.

She laughed. "I'm not stupid, Ben. There isn't a ding at the apartment or Rory's house. Where are you?"

A long pause before a new voice answered her. "We're at the hospital. Your brother took a bat to the head from a random."

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know how. We're at the hospital for a scan and some pain meds, hopefully."

A hand touched her hip and Callisto looked up at Nathaniel Lawson. He stood behind her, openly listening in without a hint of shame. She lifted his hand off her waist by his wrist. He placed his hand on her side, triggering a stabbing pain. She twisted away and forward into the counter edge.

Callisto braced herself for the worst. "I'm going back to the apartment, Rory. Tell Ben he can find me there…cleaning up. They probably started the removal of bodies, so Mom isn't there…" Her throat tightened, memories of her mother raising them as children and tweens collaging into one soul crushing tear inducing nuclear bomb.

"If you need anything…"

"No." Her voice cracked. "All I need to do is face it and find a way to survive." She closed her eyes and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Her chest ached, not from the abuse, and the world closed in on. They didn't have enough savings to pay for next month's rent. They were late on the electric bill. She barely covered her tuition costs for these classes. Her part time job, full time classes, and rising demands culminated into one nasty thorn in the side. "Keep an eye on Ben and make sure he gets home safely. I'll try to make sure the blood is cleaned up in the apartment." She ended the call.

Nathaniel massaged her shoulders. "Archie will escort you home."

Her jaw worked back and forth. "If you insist."

"My sympathies on the loss of your mother." He said in seeming genuine empathy.

"Where's Slick?" She demanded.

He placed his hands on her hips again, trapping her against her the counter in an obvious power move. "I don't care enough to track the fool." Nathaniel answered her. "He won't be a problem to you."

Her face screwed up.

He leaned forward. "Your home was invaded. Your body is weak. Your brother is at the mercy of the economy. Archibald will see you home safely."

She assumed Archibald 'Archie' was his companion and remembered her mother's insistence on diplomacy. It would be hard, but she'd respect her mother and try to be the better person. "You're not going to try to kill me again?"

He chuckled. "Pet…life for a life." He let go of her waist and left her alone in the kitchen.

Alone in the cramped room, she checked the time on the stove. 7:35. Nowhere to go and nothing to do but the dreaded clean up. God, why did she have to live in a country that supported a senseless 'holiday'. Why did she even try anymore?

Closing her eyes, Callisto Carter prayed she found a way to survive without becoming homeless. Worst case she could strip until she found a better job. Hopefully, it was the worst case.

Nathaniel Lawson's companion 'tip toed' into the kitchen and waited silently. She composed herself, determined to hold her head high and face the music of the dire circumstances in front of her. Archibald followed her out the door and walked with her through the unfolding horror of the morning after. Sirens pierced the morning in an unending symphony. They stopped at corners and ignored each other, aware of the other as they were of their own physical well being.

Only when they stopped at an apartment building blocked off by an ambulance, medics, and a small army of volunteers did it sink in how much she missed her mother.

Fresh tears wet her cheeks, and Archibald witnessed it as awkwardly as a step-son who couldn't tear his eyes away from his new step-mother's breasts.

Callisto Carter swallowed hard and stepped forward into a new beginning.


End file.
